


Act of Contrition

by hermionebellemae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Horcrux Hunting, Mutual Pining, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionebellemae/pseuds/hermionebellemae
Summary: “She half-hoped he wouldn’t mistake the tenderness in her expression as she looked back at him. It was reaching near-impossible levels of effort to keep up her angry façade, and even more so to disguise her true feelings for him. She wondered, not for the first time, why she even bothered to try anymore.”After Ron returns, Hermione is finding it increasingly difficult to stay angry with him.Deathly Hallows tent missing moment. Romione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Act of Contrition

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into my head one day completely out of nowhere, and two lines of this fic lived in my notes app for weeks until I found the inspiration to finish the fic entirely, and spurred me into writing more and more. I have this one to thank for my newfound love for fanfic writing. If I’m being honest, it is the one I'm most proud of so far. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The sky was paper-white, and there was a dissolving chill in the air that meant Spring was just around the corner. It was early March, Hermione had surmised, though it was nearly impossible to keep track of the days while so isolated from the outside world. Glancing down at her wrist, she realized that her watch had ended minutes before. The daytime watch always seemed to go much quicker than that of the night; there was something distinctly unsettling about being outside, alone, and in the pitch-dark, jumping at every branch cracking and leaf crunching, waiting for a threat to appear. Closing her book and standing to brush leaves off of the backs of her jeans, she headed inside the tent. 

Ron, who had been sitting at the kitchen table and using his wand to tap at his wireless, made brief eye contact with Hermione as she came through the tent entrance, and stood, assumedly to take his post outside. 

She passed him quietly, doing her best not to wake Harry, who had most recently been tasked with the night shift and was now softly snoring in his bunk. As she shrugged off her coat, something on her pillow caught her eye. 

A flower, with soft pink petals and a bright orange center, attached to a long stem with curling green leaves rested, unmarred, lightly and delicately across her pillowcase. 

She could feel the frown in her brows as she gingerly picked the object up and looked to Ron, who was just about to exit through the tent flaps. “What’s this?” 

It took him a moment to understand what she was referencing. “Oh,” as he saw what she had been holding, “I found it out by the trees when I was foraging for mushrooms.” 

Her lips quivered in confusion, and there was an uncomfortably long pause before she spoke again. “Why?” 

“I thought you might like it.” He replied simply. If there had been an ulterior motive in his actions, perhaps an unspoken expectation of forgiveness, his expression gave nothing away. He looked at her openly and kindly. She tried to ignore the swelling in her heart as she averted her gaze from his, looking back down at the object she held weightlessly between her fingers.

Another long moment passed as she contemplated what he had done. Ron had been in the woods, had seen a pretty flower, and had thought of her. She felt the hardness melt from her expression. 

“Thank you,” she said honestly, finally meeting his eyes.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled.

There was something in his expression that was warm, contrite, a slight bit mischievous and so distinctly Ron, that made her heart race and her stomach flutter. This was the Ron she knew, the Ron that was no longer buried under the hostility and bitterness of the Horcrux, the Ron she had fallen in love with so long ago.

She half-hoped he wouldn’t mistake the tenderness in her expression as she looked back at him. It was reaching near-impossible levels of effort to keep up her angry façade, and even more so to disguise her true feelings for him. She wondered, not for the first time, why she even bothered to try anymore. 

He seemed to understand, at least a little bit, as he gave her one last parting smile before disappearing through the tent flaps.

With great delicacy, Hermione placed the flower on her nightstand. Crawling into bed, she hugged her pillow to her chest and didn’t bother to fight the grin that came across her face.

Ron was here. He was trying. And maybe, just maybe, he loved her too.


End file.
